


She's (Not) Afraid

by villanellessuit



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, also im not a writer, coffee shop owner eve, eve having her bisexual awakening, flirting over cups of coffee and paint samples, hugo and villanelle are the pussy loving duo we all need, i only have a gcse in english literature, interior designer villanelle, this is based off of she's not afraid by one direction, this may or may not be loosely based off of fleabag, villanelle being scared of relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:28:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24668410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villanellessuit/pseuds/villanellessuit
Summary: Villanelle sticks by her 'no dating rule' until a certain curly-haired woman makes her a coffee on her way to work one cold morning.orThat one where Villanelle is a rich interior designer and Eve is the owner of an unsuccessful coffee shop.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 16
Kudos: 138





	1. Don't judge a book by it's cover

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first ever fic so im hoping that it all goes well oopsies  
> constructive criticism is welcome bc all i wanna do is improve and make this better :)  
> anyways, enjoy!!

_7:45 am, January 2nd._

Being in Central London on a Monday morning was not a situation that Villanelle Astankova regularly found herself in.

There was a shortage of people wandering the streets. A couple of businessmen and formally dressed women passed Villanelle, but other than that, the streets were oddly bare.

Everyone who passed the blonde would spend a prolonged amount of time admiring her and she was well aware of how long they were looking at her for; Villanelle knew that she looked good and wouldn’t shy away from a chance of being marvelled at in public.

Today the Russian was rocking a look comprising a black sweater which was tucked into a pair of light grey straight-legged trousers, topped off with a grey longline blazer and a selection of silver rings and necklaces.

Not only was there a lack of people, but there was a strange, ominous silence in the air that hung around Villanelle, surrounding her ears and shifting through the wisps of her blonde hair. 

All that was heard was the gentle clicking of the slender woman’s white sneakers against the concrete, the whispers of the wind and the faint noise of traffic coming from several miles away.

The bitter wind and the gentle fog on the ground, which were leftovers from Christmas, nipped at the blonde’s cheeks but she didn’t care.

It was the first day of a new design project, which lit a fire deep inside of Villanelle’s chest and put a spring in her step. Usually, she wouldn’t get overly excited about new design projects, but this one was different.

A lot different.

She was used to people hiring her to makeover a small, homely apartment, or a cramped two-bedroom flat. Some even hired her to design the interiors of community halls and churches, but this project was bigger. 

Not a house. A home. A spacious home at that. Five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a kitchen, a dining room, a living room, a study and even a personal gym.

Villanelle was no stranger to substantial projects, but she didn’t get them often.

The house belonged to a man named Aaron Peel, a young, independent, fair businessman for whom Villanelle saw quite a lot of herself in. He was arrogant but also quiet and reserved. He boasted about his wealth and fortune without screaming it from the rooftops.

That’s why Aaron had hired Villanelle, to design his house and make him look more modern. More chic. More expensive.

Villanelle was hired for quite a lot of design projects, despite being in the industry for a mere nine months. She didn’t, however, always intend to have a career in being an interior designer.

Villanelle had spent the last four years practising as a Family Lawyer.

Not long after she moved from Russia when she was twenty-one, Villanelle applied for a place at Oxford University where she studied for three years and met one of her best friends- Hugo.

Hugo Turner, a feeble man with ratted brown hair, was the only person who understood Villanelle. They were both courageous individuals who had a bizarre sense of humour that only each other understood, and they both had an interest in women and were quite outgoing in the dating department.

At the time, Villanelle was studying law and Hugo was studying moral philosophy, so they went hand in hand when they both had to face something unethical- which was often. 

Hugo and Villanelle spent most of their time together and practically got each other through the copious amount of stress and work that came along with being a student at Oxford University. They held each other when they were burned out; they laughed at each other when they had to wear their uniforms and they were with each other through thick and thin.

After the pair had graduated at the young age of twenty-four, they went onto pursuing their careers but stayed in touch, meeting every week for a cup of coffee or the latest gossip.

Villanelle’s job as a lawyer was, notably, not what she expected. Sure, it felt amazing to help people with their problems surrounding divorce, child custody and prenuptial agreements but the effort that it took wasn’t beneficial for Villanelle.

The blonde would spend weeks gathering evidence for her cases, she would stay up until the early hours of each morning trying to keep up with the pace at which the cases were moving at.

In the end, Villanelle became extremely sleep deprived and fizzled out. She no longer had the energy to put everything into her cases, so she resigned. At twenty-eight, Villanelle had already been burnt out by the job she had desired for so long, she understood that she had to move on from her job but she was more than ready to stay there for as long as she could.

It took three months to muster up the courage to finally leave her job at Vasiliev, Martens and Co. but it was probably one of the most profitable things that Villanelle could have ever done.

Suddenly she was free to do whatever she wanted, whatever career choice she wanted next- she could have. She wanted to be an interior designer.

Villanelle phoned Hugo late one Saturday night, and they put together an interior design firm. The pair took apprenticeships in interior design and became fully qualified in just over a year. They named their firm “Touched by Design” which, in Hugo’s words, was a sensual way to boast about your skill and intellect.

Which brings us back to the present day, Villanelle, nearing close to the age of twenty-nine, walking through London in the bleak weather to find a local cafe or coffee shop.

Usually, the blonde wouldn’t drink coffee in the morning, but because of her excitement for the recent design project, Villanelle struggled to sleep the night before and ended up tired and groggy. Some coffee would be the perfect fix for Villanelle.

Many Starbucks and Costa Coffee stores tempted the blonde, but supporting local businesses was more important to Villanelle than funding some overly expensive, capitalist supporting coffee shop.

After walking for a couple more minutes, Villanelle came across a small coffee shop on the corner of a lonesome street. The sign above the striped canopy read “Espressos from Eden” in a delicate cursive font.

Before checking that the store was open, the blonde stood back and admired the exterior of the shop. Grey double doors sat in the middle of intense black walls. Thin wooden columns framed the doors, windows and corners of the little building, supporting and complementing the black exterior. Two ironwood tables and chairs were scattered around the front and side of the building, creating an accessible and welcoming atmosphere.

A chalkboard sat on each side of the doors, the shop’s opening hours on the left and a brief menu on the right. They were both handwritten, in a style that wasn’t neat or messy. It wasn’t as beautiful as cursive, yet it wasn’t as ugly as chicken scratch. It was average. Beautifully average.

Villanelle admired the exterior before placing her right hand on one door and walking inside. The smell of coffee, vanilla and freshly baked pastries attacked Villanelle’s nostrils and flooded her senses, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up on their ends and a smile to creep up on the blonde’s face.

As beautiful as the exterior of the coffee shop was, the interior was, well, a disappointment. There was next to nothing on the walls and the pattern on the feature wall didn’t match the atmosphere that the owner was going for. A couple of potted plants were spread around the shop but it was nothing too extravagant, they were there to fill empty spaces.

Villanelle tried to reassure herself that she wasn’t one to judge how a place looked, but the truth is, that’s exactly what her job is. To critique interiors and improve them.

This place needed a serious makeover.

‘Don’t judge a book by its cover’ was the only thought that was swimming through Villanelle’s mind at the moment. She had made a positive judgment of this small coffee shop by admiring the exterior, only to be let down by the almost bare interior.

Perhaps they had only been in the business for a couple of months? Maybe Villanelle wasn’t giving the owner the benefit of the doubt? However modest this coffee shop looked, it still felt extremely welcoming. Like a warm hug.

Villanelle stopped looking around and judging the interior of the cafe and decided to order some coffee. I mean, she would, if there was someone at the counter ready to take her order.

The blonde was close to giving up and going to one of the Starbucks she had passed on her way to this desolate coffee shop until the sound of a metal tray hitting the floor echoed through the building, frightening the tall woman.

Villanelle was quickly pulled out of her thoughts about finding a new coffee shop when an Asian curly-haired woman emerged from the backroom, swearing under her breath as she acknowledged the fact that she had a customer waiting for her to take their order.

“Shit, sorry! I’ll be with you in a minute, my apologies” The woman gave a weak smile to Villanelle but her brows were furrowed. She was obviously under a lot of pressure.

Villanelle was amazed at the American accent that had emerged from the brunette’s mouth; it wasn’t often that you heard an accent like that in the middle of London, especially behind a counter of a coffee shop.

The Russian smiled back at the barista as if to say ‘no problem’ and watched her as she transferred a selection of pastries from a tray to a display case where several sandwiches and salads were already on show. 

The appearance of the handmade delicacies made Villanelle wonder if the brunette had made them herself. They weren’t hideous but their flaws made it obvious that they weren’t shop-bought.

Villanelle smiled to herself at the image of the barista organising her pastries and smiled even wider when she glimpsed the women’s outfit. She was wearing a pair of brown, baggy corduroy dungarees, paired with a plain white t-shirt and a pair of beaten up, black converse high-tops. It was a basic outfit choice- but a cute one at that. 

The woman’s hair was tied up in a relaxed bun with the occasional curl falling out, framing her face. She looks gorgeous, ethereal even. 

Villanelle kept her eyes on the barista, especially when she returned to the backroom to put the tray back; it was at that point that the blonde felt her eyes lower to the other woman’s ass. She has a good-looking ass, very perky and round and-

“So what can I get you?”

The taller woman was shaken out of her lust-filled daze and let out a breath that she had no idea she was even holding in. She watched as the brunette slid her hands down her dungarees to rid the flakes of pastry off of them, and Villanelle had to keep herself from salivating. 

_‘God, this woman is sexy’_ the Russian thought, _‘Very sexy’_

To clear her mind and compose herself, Villanelle stared at the menu above the barista’s but nothing rational came to mind.

“Um,” The blonde attempted to form a sentence but her mind was blank; other than the images and ideas of the gorgeous barista, Villanelle’s mind was completely blank.

Villanelle’s gaze dropped from the menu to the brunette’s eyes and had to stop herself from falling into the dark brown orbs that stared back into her green ones. 

_‘Fuck. Even her eyes are sexy’_

Villanelle realised that she was twiddling her thumbs and nervously biting her lip and started to internally panic a little. She had never been this nervous around a woman before; she’d usually realise her lust, tell the woman about how she felt and then carry on to having sex with said woman in the same night.

The barista had noticed how Villanelle hadn’t yet decided on what to order (or what to say, in fact) and had cleared her throat in an attempt to get the Russian to speak.

“Struggling on what to order?” the barista smiled at Villanelle.

The blonde nodded at her question and gazed back at the menu to try to cover up the fact that she was imagining the woman behind the counter in several positions underneath her. 

Villanelle stared at the menu and thought about the cute barista’s insanely white teeth. For someone who worked at a coffee shop, her teeth were oddly white and it made Villanelle question whether the brunette drank coffee. It would be ironic and rather hilarious if she didn’t.

Yet again, Villanelle was ripped out of her thought process because of the curly-haired woman’s voice.

“Do you want me to make you a random drink?”


	2. Flat white for Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all of your support on the first chapter, it really meant a lot :)

_8:15 am, January 3rd._

Eve Polastri was having a glorious morning until a mysterious Russian woman had turned up at her coffee shop at an unreasonable time. 

To be fair, Espressos from Eden opened at seven in the morning on every day except Saturdays but the first couple of hours were solely for Eve to turn on the machines, take the chairs off of the tables and bake a selection of goods for the day.

It’s just that the blonde woman was unexpected, that’s all.

She wasn’t unwelcome, just unexpected.

Espressos from Eden didn’t get many customers; let alone at quarter past eight on a Monday morning. In all honesty, the coffee shop wasn’t very successful, it was quite run-down but Eve remained optimistic although some weeks they barely made a profit.

The customers that Eve had were the local people who came in twice a week, men who sat down at a table purely to use the shops free wifi or young women who ordered vegan food and asked for soy milk instead of normal.

So, in conclusion, Espressos for Eden wasn’t the strongest business to own.

Few expensive-looking individuals walked through the double doors of Eve’s small coffee shop, so not only was the blonde’s sudden appearance a surprise, it was a sight for sore eyes.

Rich customers meant that you could charge them a little extra, right? It’s London, Eve didn’t think they’d mind too much.

But this customer was different. 

She didn’t look like she was one of those wealthy people who would boast about their belongings and then book expensive restaurants and visit VIP museums and art galleries. She seemed like she had all of her money in a savings account and only spent it on valuable clothes, perfume and wine.

Although Eve had found herself in a rush when she first laid eyes on the blonde, she still glimpsed at the younger woman and admired how pretty she was. 

Once the brunette had finished what she was doing, she could get a better look at her unexpected customer.

To Eve, she was one of the prettiest ladies that she had ever looked at. 

Her facial features were the perfect mixture of soft and sharp. The push and pull between her chiselled cheekbones and her round cheeks, her angular jawline and her full lips made her thoroughly enjoyable to look at.

The way her brows furrowed when she was looking at the menu or how her green eyes sparkled when they looked directly into Eve’s brought an unfamiliar sense of interest in the older woman. She was a pleasure to look at and watch.

Her lips scrunched into a tight position as she stared at the list of drinks and their prices, and Eve gazed at the youthful woman with a hint of enthusiasm in her eyes.

She was gorgeous.

Eve felt herself staring at the unknown woman in such a way that could be deemed as creepy or threatening, so she cleared her throat to extract herself from her thoughts about the expensive, youthful blonde.

Judging that the woman reacted uncomfortably, Eve presumed that she took it the wrong way and made some small talk about how she couldn’t decide on what to order.

Two questions from Eve and two small nods from the anonymous blonde later, the brunette was now standing next to a coffee machine with a metal pitcher in hand.

“Any allergies that I should know about before I make you a random drink?” Eve giggled, looking directly into the taller woman’s eyes again.

“I’m allergic to pistachios but I doubt that you will put that in my coffee” the blonde chuckled back with a shit-eating grin spread across her face.

She was Russian.

The gorgeous, mysterious woman that stood only a few metres away from Eve was _Russian_.

Eve smirked to herself as she realised how funny the word pistachio and how sexy the word coffee sounded in a Russian accent. 

“No pistachios,” the brunette laughed whilst clicking her right hand and pointing a finger gun at the blonde who was laughing back at her “Got it”.

A flat white.

Eve would make the Russian a flat white.

It resembled the blonde rather well. Simple yet effective. A velvety yet rich beverage which could be a base for other drinks. It was a starting point for so much more, so many flavours and tastes could be added to it, enhancing the original drink- making it so much more than it used to be. It originated from somewhere other than England, much like the tall woman, but somehow found itself on the soil of Great Britain.

It was final. The blonde was getting a flat white.

Eve reached for one of the white cups that sat by the coffee machines and grabbed one of the sharpies that lay next to the cups.

“What’s your name?” the older woman smiled at the mysterious woman and held the pen up to the cup, taking off the cap, ready to write the woman’s name. 

“I need it for the drink”

Learning the unknown Russian’s name seemed like clarity. It was like Eve had been searching for an answer for years and has now been allowed to finally find out the answer for herself. It felt almost philosophical, like she was about to receive the answer to one of life’s biggest questions.

The blonde shifted her weight and leant up against the counter, placing one of her arms against the surface, smiling widely at Eve.

“Guess”

The Russian’s voice had dropped to a whisper and Eve felt her knees buckle at the sound of her rough voice filling the space of the coffee shop.

Eve watched as the smirk on the other woman grew impossibly larger and observed her face yet again. 

She was too feminine to have a name like Alex, Riley or Jordan, but she was too masculine to have a name like Charlotte, Ruby or Amy. No name seemed to suit the blonde.

The curly-haired woman examined the customer again and still- no name came to mind.

Yet again, Eve admired the blonde’s facial features and appreciated the mixture of harsh lines and gentle curves that inhabited the Russian’s visage. 

The contrast between the angular bones and fullness of her cheeks reminded Eve of a flower.

A rose, perhaps.

The perfect blend of danger and beauty, with thorns that could nick you and make you bleed and petals that make you want to go back for more- even if it results in getting cut again.

Rose. Her name was Rose.

Eve scribbled the name out on the cup before walking over to the espresso machine, which was a gift from her dearest Umma when she first started the business.

The Asian woman glanced at herself in the machine's reflection before grabbing a portafilter and filling it with enough coffee grounds for a double shot of espresso. She used the built-in grinder on the machine to grind the coffee into smaller pieces and then used her index finger to shave away any excess coffee granules. 

Before the brunette got onto tamping the espresso grounds, thoughts of the Russian woman flooded her mind again and she tightened the straps on her brown dungarees and pulled her loose curls back up into the bun to ensure that the blonde was still looking at her.

Eve knew that she was. She could feel green eyes burning holes into her back.

Whilst putting a reasonable amount of pressure onto the coffee grounds, the older woman looked up at her customer and flashed her a smile. 

Although Eve knew that the Russian was staring at her, she wasn’t expecting her to be staring at her ass. Without thinking, Eve jutted out her buttocks slightly whilst she forced the portafilter into the espresso machine and smiled at the thought of the blonde staring at her behind.

After placing the cup with the name ‘Rose’ scribbled on the side and pulling a double shot into it, the curly-haired woman steamed the milk, letting it reach a temperature familiar to her palm. Swirling the warm pitcher around in her hand, Eve quickly hit it on the counter to disperse any bubbles that may be in the milk.

With her back still facing her customer, the Asian poured the velvety milk into the double shot of espresso, making the shape of a heart on the surface of the flat white with the frothy white liquid. Before the blonde noticed the heart, Eve grabbed a lid and placed it on top of the cup, hiding the obvious display of affection that would ward someone away if they saw it within a couple minutes of meeting someone.

The barista placed the white coffee cup a few centimetres away from the customer, making sure that the name was facing her. She watched as the customer analysed the writing on the cup, her perfectly shaped eyebrows cocking slightly at the name.

“Oh, so you think I’m pretty?” the blonde spoke, her tone dark and assertive. Eve giggled at her words, but she couldn’t identify whether she was laughing at the woman’s joke or laughing because of the nerves.

“N-no, I mean- Yes, you are pretty, I just- I don’t mean it like that- I do, um,” the brunette nibbled her lip gently and inhaled sharply, placing a hand onto the grey counter “that’ll be £3.25, please”.

Eve watched as the blonde fished the money out of her expensive bag and handed it to Eve, her long fingers brushing gently against the barista’s palm. Instead of closing her purse and taking her coffee, the tall woman put her hand back into her purse and retrieved a £20 note before holding it up to the barista’s face and placing it in the tip jar to their left.

The curly-haired brunette found her mouth gaping open in response to the customer’s action and gave her a breathy laugh in response, pulling a smile onto both of their faces.

Eve held up an index finger to the blonde’s face as a sign that she’ll be back soon and left to step towards the glass display unit. After quickly weighing out her options, the older woman picked up an apple turnover and placed it gently in a small paper bag.

“There are no pistachios in this, so you don’t have to worry,” Eve smiled at her customer before handing over the bag “It’s on the house. As a thank you for the tip and a sorry for leaving you waiting earlier.” The Russian woman thanked the barista with a smile and took the apple turnover in one hand and her coffee in the other. Eve’s heart sank as she watched her customer leave for work.

“My name’s not Rose,” the blonde stated, turning around to face the brunette “better luck next time”. And with that, she winked at Eve and left the coffee shop.

Just seconds after the Russian (whose name was not Rose) had left Espresso from Eden, Eve exhaled a rather lengthy sigh and stared at the counter- thoughts about the blonde swimming through her mind. 

_‘Who was that woman?’_ Eve thought _‘And why was she so irresistible? Was she going to be returning tomorrow? Was she interested in women? Was Eve herself even into women? Or is she just into this anonymous, sexy Russian lady? Was she even into her? Yeah. She was definitely into her.’_

The brunette sighed again before placing her elbows against the counter and holding her head in her palms, gazing into the grey marble of the counter. 

She thought about the blonde repeatedly.

Eve marvelled in how the taller woman dressed, how she spoke, how she smiled, how she tipped Eve £20, how beautiful she was, how attractive her mannerisms were, how generous she was, how kind she was, how _charming_ she was.

Minutes had passed and Eve’s forehead was now resting against the cold countertop, her arms dangling lazily below her hunched over body. Even though Eve had only spent a mere fifteen minutes around the blonde, it had exhausted her already. It was as if the Russian had ripped her heart out of her chest, chewed it up, spat it back out and forced it back into Eve’s chest.

It was as if the Russian had taken her apart and then put her back again. She was the same person, the same composition, just different. 

A lot different.

Eve didn’t understand who the customer was, but she was surely doing something to her. She wanted to know everything and anything about the woman- in whatever way possible.

Was she in love?

 _‘Quit it,’_ Eve thought to herself, _‘You’re being stupid now. You’re not even into women’_

The surface of the grey countertop was now warm and foggy, because of Eve’s warm, ragged breath and the thin sheen of sweat on her skin that had formed because of her intruding thoughts about the blonde.

Eve was so distracted by her thoughts she didn’t even notice one of her employees check in for work so when they spoke, it startled the curly-haired woman and dragged her out of her thoughts. Although her forehead was still resting against the counter, Eve’s full attention was finally resting upon something other than the anonymous customer.

“Eve?” the man's voice was sweet but a hint of concern and sincerity was clear, “Eve, are you okay?” 

Kenny. Why was Kenny here? He started work at nine and it must have been just past half eight at most, unless he wanted to turn up earlier, maybe?

“Are you mad at me because I’m late?” Kenny’s voice was now evidently timid, “I’m sorry”

Late? What on earth was this kid on about?

Eve mustered up an ounce of motivation to lift her head and glance at her watch. 

9:06 am. 

Had she spent forty-five minutes thinking about the blonde and what she looked like and what she smelt like and how soft her fingertips were and how beautiful her smile was and-

Shit. She was doing it again.

Eve stood up to her full height and turned to face Kenny. She noticed that the adolescent man was fiddling with his thumbs awkwardly, eyes flitting between Eve and the interior of their cafe.

“Kenny?” the woman’s voice had dropped to a low, melancholy whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m bisexual.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on twitter @villanellessuit

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @villanellessuit !!


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